


I clutched my life and wished it kept (I'm not done yet)

by admirabletragedy



Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: (nothing worse than canon but I figured I'd add it just in case), Fic, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, collapsed building, no.4, panic attack tw, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/admirabletragedy/pseuds/admirabletragedy
Summary: Day 4 • Collapsed BuildingThe sound a building makes as it crumbles, Peter thinks, is one of the most terrifying things he's ever heard.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Whumptober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946944
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40
Collections: Whumptober





	I clutched my life and wished it kept (I'm not done yet)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song “In the Woods Somewhere,” by Hozier

* * *

_“What’re you talking about? That thing hasn’t even touched me yet!”_

_“True, but then again, wasn’t really trying to.”_

* * *

  
  


The sound a building makes as it crumbles, Peter thinks, is one of the most terrifying things he's ever heard.

Creaks merge with rumbling to drown out everything except his heartbeat, pounding loudly in his ears.

Peter assumes he blacked out because one minute he's looking at the pillars begin their descent to the ground and the next he's choking on dust. 

He attempts to sit up, but his mind is still catching up to the rest of him and it's only when he goes to stand up that he realizes he can't move.

All at once, everything dawns on him and he fumbles to take his mask off with shaking hands, all too aware of the stone pressing into his back, pinning him to the rubble below.

Finally succeeding in tugging off his bug-eyed mask, Peter drops it to the ground as he gasps for air like a drowning man, pushing weakly at the stones in front of him. 

He can't hear himself think over the blood roaring in his ears and his heaving gasps for air.

He needs _out, out, out_.

Abruptly forcing all thoughts to the side, Peter does his best to focus on getting out of the rubble. He talks out loud in an effort to drive himself, “Okay, ready?”

He tries, he _really_ does, but the stone’s barely moved and before he can process how little progress he's made, he falters, grunting as the stone drops down from the inch he'd managed to lift it.

Everything's suddenly too much and Peter needs to _move, move, move,_ but he _can't_ — he's trapped, _he's being crushed_ , “Hello?” The yell is desperate but he's too panicked to care.

He shouts again, calling out a _"Hello!”_ It feels like the word tears itself out of his chest.

He can't breathe, _he can't breathe_ , why's no one helping, _why's_ , “Please! Hey! _Hey!_ _Please!_ ”

He knows there's enough air; why can't he breathe? 

Everything's blurring around him, fueling his panic. He calls out again, “I'm down here! I'm down here! I'm stuck! I'm stuck! I can't move— _I can't._ ”

He has to stop, the lack of oxygen is making his head spin. _Is there no air? Has he been buried alive?_

The world around him is a haze but Peter uses his last ounce of energy to remember what Ned had taught him, _“Find one thing to focus on and describe it, say what it's like and why it's there.”_

So, he does.

Above everything else, Peter registers the _drip-drop_ of water and hones in on the noise.

It's loud, his senses amplified thanks to his frenzy, and he can tell the water is splashing onto something metal. It's probably cold, too, the temperature has since dropped even more following his departure from the homecoming dance.

Feeling more collected than before, he looks up, blinking through watery eyes as his gasps turn into pants.

Moving his head as much as possible, Peter comes face-to-face with his abandoned mask. It's half-submerged in water; he can see his reflection in the puddle next to it. Half of the mask is visible, the rest is all Peter.

Lost in contemplation, Peter can't help but reflect on Mr. Stark’s words, _“If you're nothing without this suit, then you shouldn't have it.”_

Deep down, Peter knows that Mr. Stark of all people would know what that's like, being called useless without his suit. To tell Peter what he did, had to mean he saw something in Peter, _right_ ? That he hadn't just seen Spider-Man, he'd seen 15-year-old, orphaned Peter Parker, and told him he was capable of being powerful as himself. And _that_ —

He steels himself, charged with renewed vigor, and begins to talk himself into the challenge he's about to face head-on, “ _C’mon, Peter._ ” 

It's only a whisper but it's enough to motivate him into moving, groaning as the stone above him shifts.

He speaks louder this time, “C’mon, Spider-Man.”

It feels as though he's pushing against a mountain but Peter refuses to give up, powering through it.

He grits his teeth, using his arms to press all his weight against the rubble beneath him. He speaks up again, louder still, “C’mon, Spider-Man. C’mon, Spider-Man.”

It's so much, _too much_ , and he shouts through the pain, _just a little more_ , “C’mon, Spider-Man!”

Peter screams as he exhausts the last of his energy, clenching his teeth so hard he fears they'll splinter. 

He reaches the full extension of his arms — without locking them, _he knows locking them is a very bad idea_ — and makes his move quickly.

Simultaneously moving his feet underneath him and pushing his arms up, he catches the stone slab, forcing it upwards. 

With one last move, he shoves the rubble as far away from him as possible — which, _granted_ , isn't very far — and revels in the night sky that’s revealed, basking in the fruits of his labor.

Peter sinks to the ground, sitting on his heels and coughing. He takes a moment, lets himself catch his breath because he made it. _God, he actually made it._

But the night’s not over; he's not naïve enough to think his work is done.

_No._ Toomes needs to be stopped and if Happy and Mr. Stark won't help, Peter would just have to do it on his own.


End file.
